You Derailed My Train of Thought
by jalenmara
Summary: Semi-humorous coda to "I think you're beautiful." C'mon. We all wrote one. Full title is actually You Derailed My Train of Thought: or I Didn't Give You Permission to Do That. Also known as the Late Great Shaving Debate of 2008. All for you, ItAers!


**_Disclaimer:_** Not mine, not making any money. I do this in the hopes that one day Shonda will read my brilliance and hire me. FAME AND GLORY! I kid! Don't sue, please...

_You Derailed My Train of Thought:  
or I Didn't Give You Permission to Do That_

By jalen_mara

Coda to "I think you're beautiful."

Her first thought was to call Meredith, but that was obviously out of the question. Cristina didn't know what had suddenly made her all girly and gooey and… _soft_ inside, but there it was. And now, all she could think about was calling Meredith and _gushing_ like a 14-year-old girl. Ok, well, not _all_ she could think about, as there was a certain red-headed Army Major sitting beside her, drinking her in with those blue penetrators of the soul that passed for eyes. Owen Hunt certainly demanded to be contended with as well, and all Cristina could do was sit here with her damn hands folded demurely and stare back at him.

All she knew was that suddenly, she wanted to be able to call her person and tell her that she had found something better than the golden warmth of Derm. She had found something to wrap herself in, to forget everything else that had happened in the past 12 hours, and Cristina wanted nothing more than to be able to share, but she found herself alone. Again, she reminded herself, not alone… there was the person she was sharing the step with after all…

Her second thought was to jump his bones, but that was probably out too given that he didn't think it would be "appropriate" to even come inside her apartment. Still, she couldn't help but think that her hands needed to be doing something other than supporting her head as she turned to stare at him. She felt the corners of her mouth turn up slightly as she thought about their previous encounters. Both of those times he had taken complete control of the situation, but the encounters had been as different as night and day. Before and After.

It had been awhile for one Cristina Yang. She figured that most people didn't think that the night _before_ their wedding would be the last time that they could remember having sex, but here she was. Most people also wouldn't think that that would be the last time they had even _wanted_ to have sex… until now…

Cristina fought back a sudden shiver at the implications of that thought. If she did this, she would be moving on. Truly. There would be no more holding on to Burke if she chose to do this, chose to let go. She didn't know which was scarier, the thought of it all, or the thought that she wanted to go ahead anyways.

But it was time. She felt that Owen Hunt was something akin to poison ivy. The rash appears and you have a little itch, but it rarely got inflamed and irritated until you scratched it. Repeatedly. Once you did that, you were a goner. The rash becomes unbearable and the next thing you know you need antibiotics, steroids, and bed rest before the pustules finally burst, lose their poison, and everything calms down once more…

Owen Hunt had scratched an itch she hadn't even realized was there, and now, here he was again, scratching away, making everything worse. And she would rather be nowhere else. She had felt the power in him, the strength. She also knew that he had been holding back both times he had kissed her, whether out of respect for her, or not wanting to scare her she didn't know, and now she was starting not to care. She wanted to see what his hands and tongue were really capable of, the tastes that she had been given doing nothing but to irritate the growing problem. She fought back and even bigger smile as she wondered if there was a medical fix to Sudden Onslaught Horniness. Somehow she figured that her antibiotic/steroid/anti-itch treatment was now staring at the ground in front of him, unable to meet her eyes anymore.

Her third train of thought was to wonder when Callie might be making an appearance. You know, if he should decide against "appropriateness" and they could leave her entryway. Although, come to think of it, she had heard something about a crazed maniac who had broken Callie's nose and the subsequent procedure Sloane had done on her. She'd thought at the time that she had to have overheard the nurses wrong, but… Maybe Callie would be staying at the hospital overnight. If that was the case…

Her fourth and fifth thoughts came in quick succession—the fourth to wonder when the last time she had shaved… anything… was, the sudden flash of horror that accompanied that particular thought, and the fifth to decide that he was right. It wouldn't be appropriate for him to come inside. Not yet anyways.

Cristina had never really put much effort into personal grooming. She showered and made sure her hair was clean, but had she mentioned that it had been a long time? The last time any sort of wax had gotten near her she had lost both her eyebrows. Ever since then it seemed just a lot of wasted effort. Until now. Now, everything seemed to have changed.

Her sixth thought was to wonder if either of them was going to say anything aloud to the other in the near future, but the seventh followed quickly after that.

Who the hell cared?


End file.
